Brindley had never proffered
advice, had never accepted opportunities to give it
except in the vaguest way. She had taught Mildred a
great deal, but always by example, by doing, never by
saying what ought or ought not to be done. Thus,
such development of Mildred's character as there had
been was natural and permanent.
``He has put me in a peculiar position,'' said
Mildred. ``Or, rather, I have let myself drift into a
peculiar position. For I think you're right in saying
that oneself is always to blame. Won't you let me talk
about it to you, please? I know you hate confidences.
But I've got to--to talk. I'd like you to advise me,
if you can. But even if you don't, it'll do me good to
say things aloud.''
``Often one sees more clearly,'' was Cyrilla's reply--
noncommittal, yet not discouraging.
``I'm free to marry him,'' Mildred went on. ``That
is, I'm not married. I'd rather not explain--''
``Don't,'' said Mrs. Brindley. ``It's unnecessary.''
``You know that it's Stanley who has been lending
me the money to live on while I study.
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